


OnlyKillers

by undasrego



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a smart ass murderer, I don't go too into it because I'm not a crime fiction writer lmao, I just want to get that out of the way, John needs his help, John's a detective, M/M, Martha Manning is still a queen, The detective au no one asked for, all cops are bastards and I stand by that, anyway its a detective au, it's a short story, just a free time project, just a warning, quarantine has really given me some time, seriously no one asked for this, theres some gore in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undasrego/pseuds/undasrego
Summary: John Laurens is one of the best detectives in Brooklyn, but when a string of sex workers wind up dead, he seeks help in the only man he can trust to think like a killer, and not kill him. Alexander Hamilton.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 15
Kudos: 163





	OnlyKillers

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this, I would like to remind you that this is a work of fiction. All cops are shit and the ones in this story would've either quit the force by now or be too busy gassing BLM activists to actually help people. Anyway, enjoy.

John stepped through the door of the interrogation room. His suspenders were tight on his shoulders, and his shirt was tieless, the top two buttons unbuttoned. Alex noted this, noted the man's fluster and exhaustion. He didn't know why he was there, truly. It had been months since he killed anyone. He was on vacation, what could he say? But John had called him in that morning, he was led to the interrogation room, and left to wait for an hour. This was a common tactic, Alex knew, but he was great at entertaining himself. He always kept a book on him, so his hour was spent deeply invested in Donna Tart's "The Goldfinch".

John dressed like an 80s detective, and it made Alex laugh. He was so serious, uptight, with his curly black hair straightened and slicked back every morning. The only reason Alex knew it was curly was due to some light stalking he participated in when he and John first became involved. They both had a complicated history with each other. See, Alex was a murderer, and a fine good one at that. Twelve people killed, zero hours served. It frustrated the Hell out of John, made him almost go dirty several times. That wasn't what Alex wanted though. Truly, John was his favorite detective, for no reason besides the fact that Alex had seen his dick, again, thanks to the light stalking he participated in, and it was good.

John sat down and took a long sip of his coffee. He had a manilla folder on the table, trapped under his hand. Alex could make out the circles under John's eyes.

"You look tired," Alex commented.

John didn't answer. Instead, he opened the file, and laid out five photos in front of Alex. Five different murder scenes, all women, bludgeoned, beaten, tied up and gagged, blood everywhere.

"Yeesh." Alex looked over the photos. "Sloppy."

"What can you tell me about the murderer just by looking at the photos?" John asked.

Alex looked up. "What? You think it's me?" He laughed. "John, no, I don't... I mean, this isn't even..." Alex felt sick that he was being accused of such an action. All of these women looked normal. They were found in their one-bedroom apartments, all young and full of hope, not particularly lavish or beautiful, though it was difficult to tell under all the damage their bodies had received. I didn't do this."

"I know."

Alex was a bit surprised John agreed on that. Usually, when a murder happened, Alex was brought in no matter what, even if the victim didn't match Alex's type. "Oh?"

"I need you to tell me what you know about the murderer just by looking at the photos."

Alex sighed and leaned forward. "He, this was most definitely a male, was abused or neglected as a child, traumatized and ignored."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I mean, look at this." Alex laughed. "Any good murderer knows that leaving a crime scene is just... stupid. But no, this man, he hid in these women's apartments, and then he tortured them, definitely drew it out. Then he killed them, and left it for your men to find. He doesn't do this just to kill, he does this for the attention."

"Do lot's of murderers do that?"

Alex shrugged. "I suppose. Lotta people get off, seeing that shit about them in the paper. If I was a murderer, which I'm not-" Lie. "-I wouldn't do it for attention."

"Why would you do it then?"

Alex smiled. Both he and John knew he killed people, it was the jury that John could never convince. "Well, if I was going to be a murderer, it would be because I see people, tycoons, men in suits who get paid a hundred bucks an hour while the black women who is ten times smarter gets paid sixty-four, and I would decide that they don't deserve a life of cocaine and prostitutes, when everyone else has so little."

"So you would play judge, jury, and executioner?"

"This isn't about me, John." Alex looked back at the photos. "He's young, handsome most likely. Probably on some hookup app. I'm guessing his mother was never in the picture, and his father, while abusive, was grossly sexist, had a few trailer trash girlfriends who he'd throw around. That, or his mother was in the picture, but his father was still, grossly sexist, and beat the women, and the son learned from that."

"Was your father abusive?"

"I never had a father, John." Alex scanned the photos. "Do they all have similar ages?"

John nodded.

"What about race? Are they mostly Asian?"

John gave Alex a disgusted look.

"Look, the internet can get dark without even going that far. You know how much rape fantasy hentai there is out there? I'm honestly surprised white men raping Asian women isn't more prominent."

"How would you know all this?"

"What? You think I have normal friends?" Alex shook his head. "Anyway, race?"

"Two white women, one black woman, one Asian woman, and one mixed-race woman."

"Alright, so he's diverse. See, not all men." Alex smiled at his quip, looking up at John. "Come on, that's funny."

"People have literally died."

Alex groaned. "God, alright." He looked back at the pictures. "I dunno. He's probably white, you know how white men like to kill women."

John raised an eyebrow.

"American Psycho is a great example, John. So is Fight Club." Alex shook his head. "God, it's like nobody reads satires on toxic masculinity and corporate violence anymore. Grow up."

"You read?"

"Of course I read! John, even if I was a murderer, I can't just... I can't just kill someone every day. No one can! 'Cept for maybe some kind of freak, but do I look like a freak?"

John was quiet for a moment. "Yes."

"You call me in here every time some Mary or Mark turns up dead. You can't honestly think I'm responsible for every murder in this city," Alex chuckled, sipping water from the opaque plastic cup on the table.

"You could be." John sat back, the file spread out between them.

"There's about... what? one murder per day in New York?" Alex laughed. "You're a bootlicker, you don't really know how long it takes to commit a murder. If I killed a single person per day, when would I sleep? When would I catch baseball games?"

"You're sick. You confess in ways that aren't confessions."

Alex groaned. "All the people you've really accused me of killing, they were all dicks, why does it matter they're dead? And now, now you call me in because some chicks were found tortured and dead in their apartment. I respect women, detective, they're braver than US Marines."

John bit his lip, glaring at Alex. "Believe it or not, I'm not here to accuse you today."

Alex cocked an eyebrow, smiling. "Oh?"

"I need your help."

Alex leaned forward, smiling. "Well, this just got interesting."

John sighed. "We both know what we know."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Alex smiled, licking his lips.

John sighed. "Alex, this guy is good. We've never found any DNA, no trace of him. He's... He's a ghost."

"No murderer is a ghost. They all get sloppy. And this guy, he's left a lot of opportunities for slop. Look at this." Alex laughed. "I mean, remember the scenes of the murders I didn't do?"

John nodded.

"They were spotless. Because whoever did them isn't sloppy. They don't do it for attention, they don't do it because they have unresolved mommy issues-" Alex laughed. "If you do catch this guy, you should have him evaluated for an Oedipus complex. Most of the guys like this have one."

"Look, you have connections into this world, don't you?"

"Maybe I do."

"Then maybe you can help."

"Yeah, hold on. What's in it for me? I'm not just going to do something for you with nothing in return. You know how many court hearings I went to when I could've been writing my novel?"

"You're writing a novel."

"Of course I'm writing a novel! I'm a normal person!" Alex shook his head. "What's in it for me?"

"I don't wear a bug the entire time to catch you confessing to your murders," John bargained.

"Boo! Nothing to confess!" Alex had gotten good at this. "Give me something I want."

"What do you want?"

Alex thought. "Hm. You have to buy me lunch every day we work together. No street meat either, I want... God, would I eat one of those shitty burgers just to make you pay twelve dollars for a burger in a place with Edison bulbs?"

John scoffed. "You wanna support the active gentrification of Brooklyn?"

"Good point." Alex smiled. "See, we have things in common."

"One thing."

"Many things."

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"We're both Latino, you were raised Catholic though, I can tell, and I was raised Jewish, because I'm normal. We both are interested in murder, you for your job, and me for my novel. We both work low paying jobs, though you do make more than me, because I'm a medical librarian. And we're both queer." Alex did a little bow.

"I'm not queer."

"Oh, has no one told you?" Alex only knew this because, once again, during the stalking, he had found John at a queer bar, getting his freak on. "Come on, it's obvious." It wasn't.

"Shut up." John stood up and slammed the file shut. "Tomorrow morning, nine am, meet me out front, we're gonna go give the murder scenes a second look."

Alex smiled and clapped, standing up. "Yay, we're best friends now!"

"No, we're not. You're a murderer, I'm a detective."

"I'm not a murderer, but I can kill some chili fries, you get what I mean? I know a good place for lunch tomorrow, it'll be great, I promise."

John opened the interrogation door. "Goodbye, Alex."

Alex smiled, flicking up the collar of his pea coat. "Tomorrow, nine am, detective. I'll see you then."

John grimaced, watching Alex walk down the hall of the police station, a free man with a skip in his step and blood on his hands.

-

It was eight am when John walked back into his office. He had gotten seven hours of sleep after a thirty-six-hour shift. John tended to put work before his health, so a twenty-ounce espresso and a bagel from the local Jewish deli had him upright. His hair was straightened and slicked back with too much Dapper Dan.

"So no, when I first moved to New York, I was not aware of the no stopping on the sidewalk rule."

John looked up. At his desk was Alex. He was such a small person, maybe only five foot three, with a thin and feminine build, and long wavy chestnut hair. He wore a sweater that was about a size too big and cuffed jeans. Honestly, he didn't look like a murderer. More like... someone who wasn't a murderer.

"Oh, I learned that one the hard way too," John's very pregnant partner, Martha, replied, leaning back and eating a bite of her sandwich.

"How did you get to my desk?" John asked, turning the chair Alex was in so it faced him.

Alex smiled, holding out a paper cup. "Good morning, John. Black coffee, to match your noir detective vibe. Figured you weren't the herbal tea guy."

"And what do you have? Blood of your last victim?" John muttered.

"Cinnamon hot chocolate, actually. Though I would kill for it." Alex laughed a bit.

"Out of my chair."

Alex got up and moved into the chair next to John's desk. "Just like old times." He sipped his drink. "You gonna ask me where I was last night?"

John shot a glare to Alex and then sipped his coffee.

"I'm gonna tell you anyway, since it'll feel weird if I don't. After you begged me for my help and I agreed hesitantly, I went for a walk, then I didn't stop walking until six am, so I went home, showered and changed, and then came here. You weren't here for the first time since you started working I think, so I hung out with your friend."

John gave a look to Martha, who shrugged and took a bite from her yogurt cup. She was at the point of pregnancy where she ate everything, and remained on desk duty. He looked back to Alex, who was smiling brightly. "Look, you weren't supposed to be here for another hour. I have things to do."

"Great, so do I." Alex pulled out his laptop.

"Planning your next murder."

"Yes."

John looked up.

Alex laughed. "Got you. But sort of. I'm a crime fiction writer. I was just a regular writer, but then you started accusing me of murder, and so I got real into this crime stuff, and then I realized I have some great ideas. My agent loves it when you accuse me of murder, because every time you do, I get a new novel idea."

"Well, we have a briefing soon."

"Oh, well, would you mind if I sit in? I'd love to know how pigs oink."

Martha laughed.

"You know he's talking about you, yeah?"

"I'm a black woman, I know most cops are pigs."

John huffed and stood up, walking into the briefing room with Alex on his trail. Alex pulled out his notebook and sat down next to John, smiling brightly. John hated how good Alex looked. The man had perfectly manicured nails, a clean shaved face, healthy shiny hair, moisturized skin, plucked eyebrows. He had a sense of fashion that made him look perfectly queer but not feminine. John hated how Alex looked so weirdly adorable in his oversized sweater, his slim-fitting jeans. It was weird, sometimes, for John to think of Alex as a murderer.

"Good morning, officers," their captain started.

"Morning, George," Martha smiled, placing her hand on her stomach.

"Yes, I would like to start by asking John why his guest is sitting in on our meeting," George began, looking over at the front table.

"Oh, hi!" Alex smiled a big, innocent smile at George. "I'm Alex, I'm helping John on a case, we were supposed to meet at nine, but I didn't have work today, so I came early. I'm just gonna sit in and listen. I'm a crime fiction writer, so I'd like to know how precincts really work."

George gave an unsatisfied smile. "Oh? Is that so? Haven't you been a murder suspect before?"

Alex nodded. "One and only. Not really, I'm sure you guys work with a lot of murder suspects." He laughed. "Actually, though, because I've been a murder suspect so much, it's really inspired my writing. Carry on."

George sighed. "John, where are you on your case?"

John let out a sharp breath of air. "It's uh, I dunno. It's hard. I'm talking with Alex about it though, because maybe he knows something we don't. Has connections we don't."

Alex smiled again, writing notes in his little notebook.

The daily briefing wasn't too long, and soon enough, Alex and John had left the building to go to the murder scenes to look over them again. John wanted to take his car, but Alex convinced him that the subway would be easier. Truthfully, Alex didn't like the idea of being in a cop car. In general, he trusted himself not to slip up, and he trusted himself not to be stupid, but he knew just how many cameras were in a cop car, and he didn't like the idea of that.

"So, when should we get lunch? Are you like, an early lunch eater, or do you eat lunch close enough to dinner time that you eat dinner at like, eight pm?" Alex asked, walking alongside John with a skip in his step.

"I don't generally eat lunch," John muttered.

"How could you not? It's a great meal to eat. I mean, amidst all the chaos of New York, you can just sit down and eat lunch. Do you have a favorite food? No, wait, let me guess..." Alex thought for a moment. "A bowl of black coffee with half-burnt cigarettes in it, and you eat it like cereal."

John gave a dirty look to Alex. "That's fucking disgusting."

"So far, all I've seen you consume is cigarettes and black coffee, it's an educated guess." Alex looked back to John. "What is it though? What's your favorite food?"

John shrugged. "I don't have one."

Alex groaned. "God, you are so boring. You have to have one thing, one food that you like."

John thought for a moment. "There's a sandwich place by my apartment, they make a good meatball sub."

Alex smiled. "There we go, meatball sub. So, you're not a vegetarian, huh?"

"No, of course, not."

Alex hummed, thinking. "Yeah, I don't think you could care enough about yourself to be a vegetarian. I'm not a vegetarian either, but I try to eat only locally sourced food. That's the most cruelty-free diet." He gave a big smile to John. "If I had to pick though, I think my favorite food would be kidney beans and brown rice. I know it's a weird combo, but with the right seasoning, it's really good."

"God, I forgot how much you talked," John muttered.

"Well, it's been a while since you accused me of murder." Alex linked his arm with John's and rested his head on John's shoulder. "I missed you, you know? I missed our little chats. Remember that time you held me in the interrogation room for twelve hours to try and get me to break? We had so much fun. I got you to play cards with me, we talked about our family life."

"You talked about your family life," John corrected, unlinking his arm from Alex's and putting a foot of space between them.

"You wanted to," Alex reminded. "Anyway, that was a good day. One of my best. What was the best day of your life?"

"I don't have one."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ. Come on, don't you ever stop to smell the roses?"

"I'm a homicide detective investigating the brutal murder of several women."

Alex paused, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess that'll do it."

John grabbed Alex's arm and pulled him into a building. "This is where the first murder happened. Sarah Hallsworth. She lived on the third floor, no forced entry, neighbors say they didn't see anyone suspicious."

"Did the hallway cameras show anything the night she died?" Alex asked.

"Nope. Nor did they show anything in the week leading up to it."

Alex hummed as John unlocked the apartment. It was covered in blood, with a bloody chair in the middle of the kitchen, knives left out, everything spilled everywhere. "Anything taken?"

"No, surprisingly."

"Okay, so this guy has a job, a job that makes him pretty well off, at least for New York."

"Gloves," John instructed, handed Alex some rubber gloves.

Alex slipped them on, then began walking around. "Hm, did you find her phone?"

John held it up. "Smashed. Same with a laptop."

"So it was probably set up on Tinder, something like that, hm? I mean, why smash such objects? Because selling them could make them trackable by serial number, and hard hacking could lead to her dating accounts, and then that leads us right to his tan torso and rakishly handsome face."

"Rakishly handsome? Dude's a killer."

"Most murderers are handsome, John. Especially women killers. I mean, if he was ugly, he'd have to do a lot more work to get them near him, it would be sloppy. No, this guy is handsome."

John nodded. "Is that how you lure your victims? Your looks?"

"First of all, you said I'm cute, no take-backs. Second of all, I don't lure anyone. I'm not a killer." Alex looked around the apartment, and then walked into the bathroom. "She lived alone, yes?"

"Yeah."

Alex hummed. "Did you guys check the drain for hair DNA?"

John shook his head. "No, should I get forensics over here?"

"Yes, every house actually. It's a risk, but think about it, he hooks up with them, showers the next morning, a little bit of hair comes out. You might find connecting DNA for at least a few of the girls." Alex opened her cabinet. "For a twenty-year-old college student, she's got some nice products. Family life?"

"Good, came from an upper-class family in San Diego, moved here to get a digital design degree at NYU. Came on a scholarship, she's a runner."

"Any connection between any of the other girls when it comes to college?"

"No, not at all. NYU, SUNY, Columbia law, a gap year, and then one was working her way through the Sears chain of command. Just about to be promoted to senior manager."

"Weird." Alex shrugged, stepping out of the bathroom and looking at the murder scene. "All of this is the original blood, yes?"

John nodded.

"Her laptop and phone were smashed," Alex repeated. He made his way into the bedroom and opened her closet, searching until he found a box. He pulled it down and opened it, then smiled. Inside were sex toys and a high-quality camera. "We got ourselves a cam girl, John!"

"A what girl?"

Alex held up a dildo, waving it around. "Cam girl, you know, like, self-published porn."

"Jesus Christ, put that down."

"Alright, I've got a new theory. She's a cam girl, that's how they met, that's how he finds his victims. Easier than Tinder, really. Smashed her phone and laptop so we couldn't see any of her videos. I bet if we could get in touch with her friends, we could get in touch with her men, and then maybe one of them knows and we can check it out."

"Like, watch porn?"

"Not just any porn. Specifically her sexual duets. Maybe we find something, hm?" Alex smiled. "Do you have any contacts with her friends?"

John nodded, pulling out the case file. "Yeah, several."

"I think we should go get lunch, ask her friends to meet us there. The Fat Radish, in the lower east side."

John sighed. "Is this gonna cost me money?"

"A little bit." Alex smiled, putting the box back up. "Come on, we got some pornstars to talk to."

-

The first friend was named Crystal. She had pretty blonde hair and huge tits. It was the first thing anyone noticed about her, generally, but that was her goal. Alex gave her a big smile as she sat down, pushing a fancy, yet non-alcoholic, drink towards her.

"Hi, I'm Alex."

"Crystal," she replied in a short manner. "Detective Laurens."

"Crystal," John greeted. "We need to ask you a few more things about Sarah. Is that okay?"

"Look, if you're about to accuse me of something, save it, I didn't-"

"Of course, you didn't do it," Alex cut in. "Women never commit murders that brutal, that sloppy. If it was cleaner, maybe you'd be a suspect, but God, look at your nails." He chuckled a bit. "They're gorgeous, how much were they?"

"Hundred bucks," she answered, pursing her lips.

"Exactly. And from the growth, you've had them since before Sarah was killed, so there's no way you would've dropped that money on nails and then risked fucking them up."

"Alex."

"John." Alex smiled back at Crystal. "Anyway, we have some questions about-"

"Alex, usually the detective asks the questions."

"Wait, you're not a detective? Did Sarah's mom hire a PI or something?"

"No, I'm helping John out, because I'm smarter than him, but I'm not a cop, so it works out." Alex sipped his coffee and sighed. "Alright, was Sarah a cam girl?"

Crystal pursed her lips.

"There's no judgment here, I get it, you have to do what you have to do. But it might help."

"Yes, she was."

"Where did she post her videos?" John asked, pulling out a notebook.

"Her Onlyfans, her username was sarahsosweet."

"On average, how many sexual partners did she have?" Alex asked.

"Generally none, actually. She'd hook up with a guy every now and then, but she wasn't really... she just didn't get into that stuff."

"What about recently?"

Crystal shrugged. "None that I know of. I mean, there was this one guy who said he'd pay her a lot of money to sleep with her, and she was thinking about it, but-"

"Did you ever meet him? Did she tell you his name? Anything?"

"No, what? Why, do you think someone could've found her on her Onlyfans?"

Alex shrugged. "I mean, I don't think the murderer was very close to any of the victims because all of them were killed in similar manners, which means he didn't take the time to personalize it. Anyway, this has really helped."

Crystal huffed, standing up. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, you can, thank you for your time."

She huffed and left, not even having touched her drink.

"She seemed nice," Alex said, smiling at the waitress as she set down their food. "Let's go back to your place and go through her Onlyfans, see if any other victims have made it onto hers, or if she's made it onto theirs."

"Firstly, we aren't going back to my place to look at porn, secondly, I don't want you coming to my apartment, third, we need to do this at the precinct, because then I won't be watching porn with a serial killer."

"Porn with a serial killer should be the title of your autobiography."

"Then it sounds like I'm doing porn with a serial killer," John pointed out.

"Well, if we catch this guy, maybe it can be arranged." Alex smiled cheekily.

"Not queer."

"Not a good liar either."

John shot a glare over at Alex, but brushed it off. "What's so good about this place anyway?"

"Locally sourced."

John sighed, and the pair ate their food in relative silence.

-

Back at the precinct, John signed up for Onlyfans, and they found Sarah's account.

"Damn," Alex muttered. "She's got nice tits."

"Be professional," John groaned, scrolling through her videos.

"I am! I'm just pointing out that maybe we should look at that for other victims," Alex mumbled. "Go to the last video she posted, let's read the comments."

"Why do I feel like this is gonna be gross?" John groaned.

"Because it's a porn site, grow up." Alex shoved John out of the way and clicked the video. He paused it before she could start, and then began scrolling down the comments. "Wanna come on your tits, wanna lick your pussy, wanna make you scream." He shook his head, looking at John. "Men aren't creative anymore."

"This is literally not the point of what we're doing," John muttered.

Alex chuckled and then continued scrolling. "Tits, tits, pussy, ass, tits. Title of my biography." He snickered, then paused. "And now, what do we have here?"

"'Can't wait to see you,'" John read off. "Click on the profile."

"I was just gonna ignore it, actually," Alex mumbled sarcastically, clicking on the icon. "He's a user, not a bruiser. You think you can get your IT guys to track the IP address?"

John nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Alright, well, I think we made great headway today, don't you think? I'm gonna head home, catch a couple of hours. I work tomorrow from seven to three, but we could meet up for lunch afterward, alright?"

"Yeah, alright." John paused. "Wait, writing or the librarian stuff?"

"Librarian stuff, though I can actually write while doing that." Alex smiled. "This was fun, hanging out with you and not being a murder suspect."

"You're gonna slip up one day, Alex."

"Honestly, John, you need to get over this. I'm not your guy."

"Then who is?"

"You tell me."

-

Alex particularly liked his work. He enjoyed working as a medical librarian. The amount of information directly at his fingertips made for some good information when it came to murder, and none of it could be traced back to his search history, or the books he checked out, because he never checked any books out. Just set them on his desk and read them.

His BS in health also aided in his many murders. Twelve, generally, isn’t a high number, but when it comes to murders, it is.

Alex wasn’t vicious by any means. Anyone who knew him could vouch for that. He was sweet, helping old ladies cross the street, picking up stray kittens, and finding good homes for them. He was a hard worker, and a good writer. He wasn’t in debt by any means, he had no intense mental issues. He didn’t kill animals as a child, couldn’t even think about hurting a living thing. The sight of roadkill would make him burst into tears. Bottom line, Alex was a good person, with a kind heart, and a good face.

Sure, he killed a few people every now and then, but it wasn’t something he did randomly, to blow off steam. Alex had reasoning, and it wasn’t just personal either.

He was currently reading The Body: A Guide For Occupants by Bill Bryson. It killed time, and anatomy always interested Alex. He worked in the anatomical section of the New York State Medical Library, so he mostly saw first-year residents, medical students. They were always too tired to cause trouble. Three times a day, Alex would reshelve the unshelved books. It was a mellow job, comforting, and Alex enjoyed it. It gave him time to write, time to read, time to relax.

John met him outside of the medical library, wearing dark sunglasses and smoking a cigarette.

“The poetic irony that comes from you smoking outside of a medical library,” Alex chuckled. “And even more, waiting for someone you think is a killer. Surely you know that the cigarettes would kill you long before any murderer.”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re… unbelievable.”

Alex chuckled. “What are we doing today?”

John huffed. “Come on, let’s get lunch.”

“Yes! I’m starved. Avocaderia is great, and nearby. You have no idea how many days after work I end up sitting in there.”

“What does it serve?” John asked.

“Salads and the best smoothies ever. I’m gonna get a lychee dragon fruit smoothie, and oh, God, their impossi-bowl is so good, but I think I’m gonna get their tahini gem this time.”

“Blahg,” John muttered.

“Do you not like salads?” Alex looked John up and down.

“No, they’re nasty.”

“Do you eat vegetables?”

“There are vegetables in pizza.”

“You are so gross. No, you’re gonna get a smoothie, and a salad, and you’re gonna like it.”

“You can’t force me to eat anything.”

“Then starve.”

Watching John sit and eat his salad begrudgingly was way more satisfying that Alex thought. The man wasn’t unhealthy looking, by any means. Well, actually, no, John didn’t look healthy for shit. He had dark bags under his eyes, his teeth had coffee and cigarette stains. He had a slim body, but that probably didn’t reflect his kidneys and immune system. Alex wondered how long it had been since John had eaten a salad.

“Alright, so I was thinking,” John started.

“That’s dangerous,” Alex laughed, taking a bite of his food. "Were you doing that instead of sleeping?”

“Shut up.” John washed down the salad with some water. “Most criminals have a place where they hang out with other criminals.”

“This guy is most likely an incel, I don’t think he goes out much, unless it’s to kill someone.”

“No, I was talking about you.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Do you have an underground hangout where you converse with other criminals?”

“First of all, your referral to _human beings_ as merely criminals is gross. Many people turn to crime due to mental illness, poverty, or-”

“Don’t give me that.”

“You are a cop, and while your original purpose was to round up black people to reign them back into slavery, it is now to protect and serve, and believe it or not, you have to protect _all_ people. So, as I was saying, many people turn to crime due to mental illness or poverty. And most crimes shouldn’t even be crimes. Drug addiction? Loitering? Sleeping in cars?” Alex pointed his fork accusingly at John. “Those aren’t crimes, those are signs that the system hates mentally ill people and homeless people. You could call someone who sells weed on the side a criminal, but of course, don’t call him a chef, don’t call her a loving wife, don’t call them a caring parent. Because in the eyes of the police, that’s not what they are. They’re criminals. You need to change your language because before anyone is anything, they are _human._ ”

John let out a sigh. “Do you? Have an underground hangout?”

“Of course, I’m not a freak.” Alex shook his head. “But I still mean everything I said. Even if I was a person who committed crimes, I would not be a criminal. You can’t be a good cop and continue the harmful language that has been hurting minorities since the beginning of the US police.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m not a cop, I’m a detective.”

“Those are the same thing!” Alex shook his head. “Don’t be so ignorant, John. If you want any respect from people who hate cops, you gotta be way more honest with yourself, and actually do some research on why the methods you’re taught are harmful.”

John rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food. “For a murderer, you sure care about other people.”

“I’m not a murderer, first of all, and second of all, why shouldn’t I? Did they not teach you empathy in your six weeks of academy training?”

“We get it, you hate cops.”

“No, I care about black lives, trans lives, immigrant lives. Caring about those people, it tends to come with hating cops, but that’s not the point. I don’t hate cops for the fuck of it.”

“You’re a crime fiction writer.”

“Yeah, exactly, fiction, the only place where cops can be good.” Alex shook his head. “This is beside the point. Why do you want to know about my book club?”

“Book club?”

“That’s what we call it.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes we talk about books.”

John huffed. “Whatever. No, here’s what I was thinking. We could go there, ask around, see if anyone has heard anything on the street. Maybe there are a few people who heard a few things.”

“I think this is a dead-end, the book club doesn’t allow murderers, but we can try.”

John, being someone who had spent a lot of time with Alex. Because of this, he had gotten really good at being able to tell when Alex was lying. The man’s tell was that he ended the sentence with the shrug of only one shoulder. Sometimes it was really subtle, a slight twitch in the courtroom that infuriated a watching John. Sometimes it was so obvious that John knew Alex was mocking him. John knew ‘the book club’ allowed murderers, because he had gotten good at reading Alex’s shoulder, and Alex’s shoulder was screaming ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’ at the moment.

“Great,” John decided. “I can be ready at seven.”

Alex burst out laughing, then sipped his drink. “God, you are such a _narc_! You don’t even try to hide it.”

“What?” John shook his head. “What was so bad about what I just said?”

“Well, it’s a Tuesday, so no one is going to be out. Believe it or not, crime isn’t a full paying job with benefits. People have work, people have school, child care, whatever. No one goes out on Tuesdays. Second of all, the people who own the place aren’t even awake by seven. If we’re doing this, we’re getting there at a normal time, like one am, or something around that. You never sleep anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

John groaned. “You are so fucking insufferable.”

“When was the last time you ate a vegetable?” Alex asked.

“None of your business.”

“Huh, it’s just weird, because the more of the salad you eat, the more of a human you look, and less like a plague-stricken mole rat.”

John held up his middle finger.

“So mean,” Alex mumbled. “What are you going to wear to this thing?”

John shrugged. “Leather jacket, jeans, a tee-shirt.”

“Okay, narc.”

“How does that make me a narc?”

“It doesn’t, I just wanna buy you clothes.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come on, you dress like some stupid noir detective who dramatically put his gun and badge down on his captain’s desk and went ‘what’s the use of it if it don’t mean shit?’ and now you’re walking around the city like ‘I’m on my own’ and you have a dame or some shit. You fit all the stereotypes. You stepped out of an Agatha Christie novel.”

“You read Agatha Christie,” John deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have taste.” Alex gave a big cheeky smile. “Come on, one outfit. One outfit. I wanna see what you look like as a normal person. I think you could really rock denim on denim.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I wear denim on denim.”

“That’s the coldest take. Denim on denim actually looks really good, the fashion industry just hates the working class.”

“You are a fucking SJW.”

“God, that is the most conservative comeback.” Alex scoffed. “All because I said denim on denim looks good, and people were just made to think it looks bad because the working class wore it most. You are so obnoxious, John. You seriously need to be more educated on the active oppression people face in this world, this country especially, since it’s your job to serve and protect its people.”

John rolled his eyes. “Does it have to be shoved down my throat every time we talk?”

“Yes! You’re a cop! You should know this stuff!”

“Whatever.” John pulled out two twenties and left them on the table. “Leave the change as a tip. I’m going.”

“I’ll call you, we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“We’re not going shopping.”

“Yes, we are.”

-

“I still don’t see why we have to do this.”

“Because you dress like the main character in Casablanca. Did you like, ever leave the forties? Or like, what?” Alex gave John a smile. “And it’s not like I’m getting you a Gucci purse and a pair of Chanel boots.” He held open the door to a dusty and over piled thrift shop. “Come on, Johnny, let’s get you looking like a person.”

“I look like a person,” John muttered, stepping inside.

Alex smiled, pulling John into the jacket section. “I’m still thinking denim on denim for you. Let’s get you a denim jacket.”

“Why is it so important to you that I look different?” John muttered.

“Because I’m not bringing a cop into this place, they’d kill me.” Alex browsed the racks, then pulled out a brown leather bomber jacket. “This is gonna go in the maybe pile.” He shoved it into John’s arms. “Why do you straighten your hair?”

“It’s professional.”

“There is nothing unprofessional with your unstraightened hair. Don’t straighten it for Friday.”

“Alex, you haven’t seen it curly.”

Alex had, but he wasn’t going to say that. “I don’t care, don’t straighten it.” He pulled up a denim jacket. “Alright, there we go. Hold this. What size jeans do you wear?”

“Are my jeans not good enough?”

“No, they give you no shape in your ass. It’s ugly. You need something old and ripped, but slim fitting.” Alex picked up a pair of jeans, black, with tears in them, and held them to John’s waist. “These. Do you have any tee shirts that aren’t white and stained with coffee and cigarettes?”

“Coffee and cigarettes is not my only diet,” John muttered.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Alex handed John another pair of jeans. “You probably wear a medium, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, let’s go try this stuff on.”

John had a better ass than Alex expected. It wasn’t anything to gawk at, nothing huge, but it was round, tight, firm. Alex only knew it was firm because as John was turning around to go back in the dressed room, Alex smacked his ass. John then proceeded to threaten Alex with charges of assaulting an officer.

They got John some clothes, and then proceeded to go to a little deli up a few blocks. It was a street thing, not something that they could really eat inside, so they sat across the street on the stoop to some to-be-opened business. John got a Philly cheesesteak, Alex got a turkey burger.

“So, why a cop?” Alex asked.

“Detective.”

“Hog, pig, sow, it all means the same thing. Why a cop?”

John sighed. “Well, I didn’t join to be a cop, I joined to be a detective.”

“Oh my God! Okay, why a _detective_?”

John chuckled. “No reason.”

“Oh, come on, we’re best friends, you can tell me anything.”

“We’re not best friends.”

“John, I’m the closest friend you have.”

“Hold up.” John looked over at Alex. “First of all, you are not the closest friend I have, and second of all, you are not my friend. You’re, at most, a coworker, and at least, a murderer.”

“Name one friend you have that isn’t me.”

“My partner, Martha.”

“She’s your coworker.”

“We hang out.”

“At non-work events?”

John was quiet.

“Face it, I’m your best friend. Now, tell me, why a detective? There has to be some sort of… of dramatic backstory. You don’t dress like someone who doesn’t have a dramatic backstory.”

John tilted his head a bit. “Well, uh, my father was real shit, right? And, uh, well, my mother, she was a doll. Uh, I dunno.”

“You’ve come this far. Don’t stop yet.”

John chuckled nervously. “My mother, she always really liked those noir detective books, she’d read em whenever she could get her hands on them. Some kids grow up with Doctor Suess, I grew up with Dashiel Hammett, James Ellroy, Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Okay, I’m starting to get it.”

“And then my mother, she uh, she died.” John pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. “And I was raising my siblings all on my own, pretty much. Like I said, shit Dad. I couldn’t go to college, I barely graduated high school. I was working full time at Wendy’s when one of my coworkers committed arson, and I was interviewed by detectives. It was like they had fallen directly out of my mother’s books, they played the good cop bad cop spiel, they said all the lines, wore the glasses and suspenders. I went and applied for the police academy the next day.”

“So like, it’s for your mom?”

“A little bit, yeah. Also, I really needed a better paying job. I lived down in South Carolina, took custody of my siblings until they were of age and graduated, and then I moved up here, became a detective, and well, here I am.”

“Huh, so you’re like, some noble hero with a heart of gold who’s just so utterly selfless that now that you’re alone you still couldn’t do anything for you and only you, which resonates in overworking, and living off of cigarettes and coffee.”

“Those aren’t the only things I have.”

“Right, sorry, cigarettes, coffee, and White Castle sliders.”

“Thank you.”

Alex snorted.

“And what about you? What sparked your murderous streak?”

“Nothing, because I don’t have one. And you don’t get to know about me, because you’ve accused me of murder.”

“I’ve also bought you lunch,” John pointed out.

“Murder thing outweighs the lunch.” Alex popped the last bite of his turkey burger into his mouth, and then snatched John’s cigarette out of his mouth, tossing it to the ground. “Smoking is bad for you.”

“Hey!” John gasped.

“It is.” Alex shrugged. “Aesthetic is never worth compromising your health, dude.”

“God, you’re such a do-gooder,” John mumbled.

“Odd thing to say considering how many times you’ve convicted me of murder,” Alex chuckled. "So, hey, Friday, I’m gonna come into your work, and we can go over what we’re doing, alright?” He stood up, dusting off his jeans. “I’ll bring coffee.”

John looked up at Alex. “Do you even live in a place?”

“Yeah, I have a real cute apartment in Crown Heights. I can afford it myself too, so no roommates.” Alex smiled, patting John’s cheek. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“Friday,” John confirmed, taking a bite of his food. He watched Alex walk away. He told himself he wasn’t focused on the way Alex’s legs looked in those jeans, or the way his hair, which was cut right at his shoulders, blew in the wind. He wasn’t even focused on that smile with those dog tongue lips. He wasn’t focused on any of that, because Alex was a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer.

Sometimes, John wondered when he’d be next.

-

Alex was playing with a switchblade outside of the precinct, waiting for John to be down, dressed and ready. Alex had made it very clear that if John did not appear with curly hair and an unshaven face, as well as the clothes Alex supplied, the jig would be off, and they would wait another week, possibly allowing the murderer to make another kill in that time. John tried to argue, but gave up, deciding to just follow Alex’s instructions.

“Alex, you really shouldn’t play with knives outside of a police precinct. People might think you’re up to no good.”

Alex turned and smiled. John was wearing his blue denim jacket with a pair of black denim jeans, as well as a tee-shirt with the word ‘choke’ in the Coca-Cola font. His hair was a lion’s mane of curls, falling just to his shoulders. He looked handsome.

Well, John always looked handsome. At least in Alex’s eyes. It was hard not to see the natural beauty of John. He was a handsome man. But now, dressed like a person, with natural hair and a bit of scruff on his chin and upper lip, he looked… he looked a different kind of handsome. He looked handsome in the way that normal people look handsome. He looked a bit rugged, a bit sharp, but soft almost.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that.” Alex slipped the blade into his pocket and stood up. “You look nice.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, you do.” Alex fixed the collar on John’s jacket. “It’s nice. I like your hair like this better. It’s more…” he shrugged, thinking. “You.”

John rolled his eyes.

“Alright, we’re getting an Uber to this place, but you have to wear a blindfold until we get there.”

“Why?”

“You’re a cop, I don’t want you busting in with all your pigs and arresting all of my friends.”

“These people are your friends?” John asked.

“Some of ‘em. Some of them are exes, so like, awkward, ha. But some of them are just my friends.” Alex pulled John to sit down on the bench. “Uber should be here soon. Did people like your hair?”

“I wore it up for most of the day,” John admitted.

“Why are you so afraid of people seeing it? It looks cute.”

“Don’t compliment me. You’re a criminal.”

“Again with the dehumanizing language,” Alex groaned. “I’m also a medical librarian, a triathlete, a writer, a cat dad.”

“Hey, John!” Martha smiled, walking out of the precinct. “And oh, Alex, hi!”

Alex waved. “Hi, Martha.”

“You two look like you’re headed somewhere fun,” she chuckled, placing her hand on her stomach.

“Hopefully. Are you waiting for a ride?”

“Oh, my wife should be around in a moment. I asked her to pick up food.”

Alex nodded, then stood up as a car pulled up to the police station. “This is us. Have a good night.”

“Will do, bye John! I like your hair like that.”

“See? It’s cute,” Alex mumbled to John as they got in the car. He pulled out a sleep mask and handed it to John. “Alright, put it on.”

“This is way too extra,” John muttered, obliging. “Will we do this on our way back?”

“No, you’ll be too drunk to remember where we are on our way back.” Alex patted John’s cheek and the car began to drive.

It was awkward to get John out of the Uber while keeping the blindfold on him, and it looked a bit weird to other people as the pair walked down the street, but Alex got to the bar where the hangout was located in, and then got to the hallway just before the door to the secret speak-easy that the crime families of New York had claimed and extended to those with an… interesting history.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Alex started. “Don’t talk, don’t say anything. Let me do the talking. Your name is John Ericson, you’re my boyfriend.”

“I’m your what?” John gasped.

“My boyfriend.” Alex closed his eyes for a moment. “No one brings friends to this shit. This is intimate, so you better act like we’ve been together for a damn while. For instance-” Alex leaned in and pressed a heated kiss to John’s lips, tugging on his curly hair a bit. “When I do that, you should kiss me back.”

John touched his mouth. “You just-” He shook his head. “Alex!”

“Shut up, we’re romantic and in love. You have to roll with it. Don’t tell me you’ve never been undercover before.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

“Well, roll with it.” Alex pecked John’s lips again and then patted his cheek. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go.” He placed John’s arm around him, and then the two walked into the speakeasy. It was a smooth-jazz mafia-esque type of scene, without all the suits and cocktail glasses. Music was playing, there was a bar, people were sitting, standing, dancing. Everyone was laughing. It almost reminded John of Versaille.

“Two jack on the rocks, please,” Alex smiled, leaning over the counter.

The bartender nodded and got to work.

“This place isn’t what I expected,” John mumbled softly, sitting down on a stool next to Alex.

“What? You think there’d be broken glass on the floor?” Alex laughed. “We follow health codes here. We aren’t animals.” Alex leaned over the bar a bit more. “Could we also get two shots?”

John pretended he hadn’t glanced at Alex’s ass, which looked great in his jeans and instead stared at some gum on the floor, which oddly resembled Ronald Regan’s face.

“Bottoms up, John. Anyone here who doesn’t drink doesn’t belong.” Alex downed his shot and coughed a bit. “Every time, always forget how strong-” He watched in awe as John took the shot without flinching, then downed the whiskey. “Alright, a little bit of an alcoholic, I see you.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.” John tilted his head. “I’m just not a pussy.”

Alex’s eyes widened, as well as his smile. “Okay, I’m into this.”

John was about to reply, some small comment, but before he could, someone walked by and smacked Alex’s ass. It was another man, tall, with a strong build.

“Reynolds,” Alex muttered, turning his head.

“Hey, baby,” Reynolds replied, grabbing Alex’s hips and leaning over him. “What’s a guy gotta do to get your mouth on his cock?”

“What’s a guy gotta do to give you a hint? Get off me.”

John frowned at the interaction.

“Oh, baby, don’t be like that. You haven’t gotten enough shots in you yet to be agreeable? How many before you touch it? Just touch it?”

“Get off me.”

“Come on.”

“Hey.” John stood up, pushing Reynolds back a bit. “He said get off him.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Reynolds laughed.

“John,” Alex mumbled quietly.

“I’m the guy who’ll fuck you up if you touch him again.” John paused, feeling Alex’s hand grab his arm, a silent plea for him to not make a scene. “Just, leave us alone.”

Reynolds held up his hands. “Alright, I meant no harm. But for the record, he likes it when you fuck his mouth.”

“James!” Alex gasped.

He laughed and walked away, going to find some other person to bother.

“Who the fuck was that?” John muttered in a low voice.

“No one. What happened to not talking?”

“I wasn’t going to let that guy just feel up on you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Obviously not.”

Alex slapped John across the face. “If you weren’t my boyfriend I’d fuck you up.”

He grabbed John by his collar and pushed him against the counter, kissing him. John kissed back, but could barely keep up. Alex’s hands, mouth, body, it all moved so fast, and John still hadn’t even come to terms with the fact that he was kissing the man who he had obsessed over for almost five years now.

Alex relented, wiping his mouth. “I don’t need your help.”

John nodded, not really knowing that to think.

“Two more shots,” Alex called out.

“Well, well, well.” A different man approached them, smiling. “Alexander, you have a boy toy and you didn’t tell me? I’m hurt.”

Alex chuckled. “Hiya, Laf. This is John, John, this is my best friend and closest comrade, Lafayette.”

“Hey,” John mumbled, nodding.

Lafayette smiled. “Two Fridays in a row, that’s rare. Tell me, were you lonely? Or is there something you want?”

Alex leaned against John, biting his lip. “Maybe I was lonely. You ever think that?”

Lafayette hooked his fingers into Alex’s front pockets. “What is it you want, huh? Black market crap? A little bit of drugs? Access to a hooker who won’t ask any questions?”

“You know me so well.” Alex rubbed Lafayette’s chin. “No, this time, I need to talk to someone higher up on the food chain.”

“Like, Eddie Garafola?”

“No, closer to Peter Gotti.”

John refrained from choking at the sound of the name.

“Gotti? What do you need that Gotti would have?”

“That’s not entirely your business, sweetheart. Don’t confuse our hookups with intimacy. They aren’t the same.” Alex leaned up and kissed Laf’s jaw. “But I’ll make it worth your time if you can get us over there, alright?”

Lafayette smiled a bit, tilting his head. “Yeah, alright. You stay there, I’ll go talk to him.”

He left, and John leaned down to Alex’s ear. “Peter Gotti? Like the leader of the Gambino crime family?”

“Yeah, baby. If anyone knows anything about anything, it’s him. Don’t be a pussy. He’s a real sweetie. We used to bowl together.”

“You bowled with Peter Gotti?”

“He was in a league, invited me a few times. He’s the father I never had.”

Lafayette came back over. “Hey, you’re all good. Go in.”

Alex took John’s hand and the two walked through the people, to a back hallway. They came upon a door and Alex knocked a few times, then let himself in. It was a comfortable room, filled with cigar smoke and the sound of loud Italian laughter.

“Alexander!” Peter smiled, standing up and pulling Alex into a big hug. “Look at you!” He kissed both of Alex’s cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve been busy?”

“Yeah, you know me.”

Peter gave a knowing smile, then looked to John. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is John, he’s my… partner.” Alex smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“Any friend of Alex’s is a friend of mine.” Peter kissed both of John’s cheeks. “Come, sit down, sit down. I hear you need to talk.”

Peter's men shoved over as Alex and John sat in the only booth there was. A waitress served them whiskey, and two cigars were set out for them. Alex took a sip of his drink, making a face, and then looked to Peter, who was lighting up his third cigar of the night.

“I need a little bit of information, and I figure you might be the guy to talk to.”

“We sang Piano Man together, Alexander. I’m here for you.”

Alex smiled softly, tilting his head. “You’re so sweet to me.”

“Ah, don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.”

“Ya big teddy bear.” Alex shook his head. “No, I’m actually real curious about a string of murders that have been going down.”

“Oh yeah? Whose?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.” Alex leaned forward. “String of brutal murders, all girls who do that OnlyFans crap.”

“How brutal?” Peter asked, his voice lowered.

“Disgusting. Head bashed in, nails and teeth torn out, a real torture scene. It’s enough to make a grown man vomit. I was wondering if you got any information on who might be doing that.”

Peter rubbed his jaw. “Well, it ain’t any of my men. You know that.”

“I do.”

He thought a bit longer, taking a long sip of his whiskey and a big puff from his cigar. “Jesus, no, I can’t think of anything. But, Alex, for you? I’ll keep an ear out, deploy some people to have a look around town. Why the interest?”

“Got a friend in the business. Eliza, you know her.”

“Yeah, I know Eliza. Real sweet girl. You seen her lately?”

“Yeah, she’s still working over in the west village, shaking her ass.”

Peter nodded and laughed. “You go see her soon, give her my love. You need any money? Or anything you can pawn?”

“Oh, you take real good care of me, baby. I’m alright though.”

“Your published being sweet to you? What about that cop that bothers you?”

John felt his shoulder tense.

“You want me to go bash in his knees?” Peter offered. “Can’t accuse you of what you… didn’t do if his jaw is broken. How ‘bout that?”

Alex laughed, leaning his head against John. “That’s thoughtful, Peter. He ain’t been so bad lately. Too caught up in whatever else he does.”

“Alright, you go have fun. Come here.”

Alex leaned forward and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Peter.

“You tell me if you need anything, alright? Anything at all. I’ll always take care of you, Alex.”

“Thank you, Peter.” Alex stood up and pulled John out of the room. “Alright, so he’s gonna see if there’s any word going down.”

“You just… Alex, he's New York’s most wanted crime boss!”

“He’s also really sweet. Takes care of some of us. Helped me out when I was in a rough spot financially.”

“When have you been in a rough spot financially?” John asked.

“Before I started publishing books, when you first accused me of murder. You got no idea how much those legal fees cost. I was sleeping on couches. Peter gave me some cash, let me stay in his home with his family for a bit, made sure I never went hungry, and helped me get back on my feet.”

“You were seriously sleeping on couches during that first time?”

“I mean, yeah. John, that shit’s expensive.” Alex shook his head. “Why do you think I would keep dozing off in the interrogation rooms, huh?”

John looked down and didn’t say anything as they walked back into the main area of the speakeasy.

“Alright, drink up. We’re not leaving until you can’t walk.”

John, at the time, thought that Alex’s words were an exaggeration. The last thing he really remembered was Alex putting some coins into a jukebox and pulling him onto the dance floor. After that, there were only bits and pieces. Moments that John saw and then moments that he didn’t see.

He woke up on Alex’s couch, groaning. He was still wearing all the clothes he had on last night, but his head hurt, and his stomach turned with every little movement he made.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Alex smiled from the kitchen. “Aspirin?”

“Mmf, where am I?” John asked.

“Back at my place.”

This woke John right the fuck up. His eyes shot open and he looked around, trying to find any evidence that Alex was going to kill him. There was none though. Alex was cooking eggs, wearing sweats and a tee-shirt. He looked tired, a bit hungover, but innocent. John didn’t miss the way Alex’s tee shirt rode just above the hem of his sweatpants, exposing the trim and slightly hairy stomach.

“Christ, what did you do to me last night?”

Alex tilted his head back, laughing. “And here I thought you could handle your liquor.”

John flipped Alex off.

“Ah, kidding. You drank Russian vodka and Irish whiskey together last night. Even the drunkest of men would be sick after that.”

John sighed, going to sit at Alex’s kitchen table. “Did we find any information?”

“No, but we have ears on the streets now, looking for this man. Looking for information. Peter will give me a call if he finds anything.”

“Peter Gotti?” John muttered. “Did I meet Peter Gotti last night?”

“Yes, and he kissed you on both cheeks. I was talking to him later while you made yourself look like an idiot, he said he liked you.”

“And you slapped me,” John pieced together.

“That was before Gotti, but yes, I did.”

John rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“About eight-thirty,” Alex muttered.

“Shit!” John gasped, grabbing his denim jacket and slipping it on. “I have to go.”

“What? Why?”

“Some people have work!” John gasped.

“I work,” Alex muttered.

“I have to go, I have to go.” He grabbed Alex’s coffee cup and chugged whatever coffee was in it and then left. “Bye!”

Alex smiled a bit, tilting his head as John left. “Goodbye, John Laurens.” He looked back to his empty coffee cup, then the cat on the counter. “I told you he was a character.”

-

“You should be prepared, the fresh scenes are disgusting, no matter how accustomed you are to it,” John mumbled, putting on gloves and standing outside the apartment.

“Relax, I can handle it.” Alex tied his hair up. “You think the murderer knows we’re onto them?”

“Well, we aren’t onto them, technically. We have no leads, no nothing.”

“Fair point.” Alex smiled. “Alright, let’s do this.”

They walked into the apartment, and Alex instantly ran to the kitchen sink and vomited.

“For a murderer, I thought you’d be more used to this stuff,” John muttered, getting Alex a tissue.”

“I’m not a murderer, and any normal person would vomit at that shit. Her eyes popped out! Nasty!” Alex shook his head.

“Remember, this is a person who died, be respectful,” John reminded.

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex took a deep breath and walked closer to the corpse. “God, he really went all out on this one.” He looked back at John. “Doesn’t this look worse than the others? I mean, her head isn’t bashed in, which means she probably died really slowly.” Alex used a pen to lift up her lips. “No teeth, no fingernails, no eyes.”

“Fingers are broken too,” a forensic analyzer spoke up. “John’s cracked, eardrums punctured. It’s gruesome.”

Alex felt his stomach turn. “God, I regret breakfast.”

“Check the shower drain for hair. Smashed phone and laptop?”

“Smashed phone, couldn’t find the laptop though,” another forensics team member answered.

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Oh! A lead!”

“Maybe he took it, to pawn,” John pointed out.

“No, he wouldn’t. Why just take the laptop? Why leave the cable box, the Apple TV box, the Amazon fire stick? Why smash her phone and not her laptop? This tricky girl has hidden her laptop, or better yet, left it somewhere.” Alex clapped his hands. “Oh, so smart. What a wonderful girl. What’s her name?”

“Patricia.”

“Patricia,” Alex repeated. He patted the corpse’s head, humming. “Thank you, Patty. Your life will not be lost in vain. You will help us. You can help us. You have already helped us.” He looked at John. “Get in contact with all her friends, anyone you can find who knows her. Maybe she left it at their house. I’ll check her bedroom.”

There was no laptop in the house, but Patricia had a wide social media presence, and getting in contact with everyone was easy. Telling them was the hard part, but they did, eventually, get her laptop, and gain access to its contents, thanks to one of her friends knowing the password.

“OnlyFans girl,” Alex nodded as he and John went through it at the precinct. “Alright, where’s her Tinder, where’s her Tinder, and-” he smiled. “There we go. Alright, who have you been talking to, miss Patty?”

“Alright, three men.” John took the computer. “I’m going to print out all of the conversations and all three profiles. Every bit of evidence is needed. I’m sending each of these names to get background checks and brought in to be interviewed.”

Alex smiled. “You’re really cute when you get all serious.”

“Don’t call me cute,” John muttered.

“I miss your curly hair.”

“You make it really hard to work with you, you know that?” John looked at Alex.

“Yeah, I do.” Alex sighed. “We should get lunch. Come on, just while these guys are getting background checks.”

“We still have things to do though. I mean, this computer is the first lead we’ve gotten in this entire case.”

“Then, how about you and I pull an all-nighter tonight and go through it, huh? Go find a diner that’s open twenty-four hours, drink too much coffee, and a lot of shitty eggs and sausage. Yeah? How does that sound?”

John thought for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Great. Then I’m gonna run home and catch a few hours. You bring some information. This will be fun.”

John kept his eyes fixed on the laptop screen, refusing to look at the way Alex fit into those jeans. “Alright. Meet me back here around eight.”

Alex ruffled John’s hair. “Eight. Got it, see you.”

“Bye.”

-

Alex and John decided on 7th Ave Donuts And Diner for their all-night search for information. It was a quaint twenty-four-hour diner, with intimate booths so Alex and John wouldn’t have to speak any information too loud. Alex instantly ordered a plate of mozzarella sticks, a grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup, and a hot tea. John put two nicotine patches on his arm and ordered a black coffee.

“Would you ever do cocaine?” Alex asked John, pulling out some paper and pens.

“No, why?”

Alex shrugged. “People who do cocaine often smoke too. Just wondering. Have you ever done cocaine?”

“No, have you?”

“Of course.” Alex chuckled a bit, thanking the waitress as she set down his hot tea with a green tea bag on the saucer next to it.

“Of course? Hold on, when did you do cocaine?”

“College. Look, I think I’m pretty healthy now, but in college, I lived off of ramen noodles and Adderall. I walked across the graduation stage sweating vodka, hungover as hell, having eaten nothing in four days but pills and coke.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“We all had our fun.” Alex smiled as his food was set down, then dug in. “Fuck, I was starving. Forgot to get groceries the other day, woke up from my nap, and realized I had shit for food.”

“Alright, shall we?” John started, pulling out Patricia’s laptop and endless papers he had printed out from it.

“Yeah, sure. Did you find anything from those three guys?”

“No, not yet. Shit’s backed up. I’ll find out in a bit.”

“Alright, cool.”

They spent about four hours just going through papers, highlighting anything that could mean anything. Alex drank more tea in that span of time than he had in the entire week. He also kept a flow of soup coming in. John didn’t eat anything, but always shook his cup as the waitress walked by, a silent request to be topped off.

Finally, Alex let his head fall down on the table, groaning. “I hate this!”

“Alex,” John mumbled.

“I’m bored.”

“This job is boring sometimes. It’s not all car chases and shootouts.”

“If you think that I think your job consists of that at all, then you have seriously misjudged me.” Alex waved as their waitress walked by. “Trudy, dear, could you get me, uhh…” Alex looked at the menu for a moment. “French onion soup, fried egg, and a side of curly fries.”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She looked at John. “Top off?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John nodded.

“Hey, John, you know that line, see something, say something?” Alex mumbled.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, there’s a guy sitting up at the counter, came in about an hour ago. Been looking at us for a bit.”

John pulled out a compact mirror from his pocket and placed it on the table, adjusting it until he could see the guy sitting at the counter. “Huh.”

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Alex decided, standing up.

“What?”

“Oh, shut up. It’ll be fine.”

“No, Alex, don’t-”

It was too late. Alex had gotten up and was making his way to the bar. He sat down right next to the man, smiling at him. “Hiya, cutie.”

The man, younger, pale blonde hair and a rugged unshaved jaw, looked at Alex with disgust. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you lookin’ at me. I’m down if you are, baby.”

“Fucking disgusting!” The man stood up. “I ain’t no fucking faggot! Get the fuck off me!”

“What? Come on, baby. You don’t think I’m pretty?”

The man slammed five dollars on the counter and left.

Alex walked back to John and sat down. “There we go, all gone.”

“You are so reckless.” John shook his head. “What if he had gotten violent with you? What if he had attacked you? Alex, people like you have been killed for a lot less. Gay panic laws? Do you remember that? If he had killed you, it wouldn’t have just been murder. What if he was carrying? Do you know how dangerous that was?”

“He wouldn’t have killed me.” Alex smiled at John. “I got him to leave, isn’t that what we needed?”

“You…” John shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

John rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You think your mom would be proud of you if she knew you?”

“Are you just using this as an excuse to make me feel bad for being a cop?” John asked.

“No, I’m genuinely asking. Do you think she’d be proud?”

John set down his pen, thinking. “I think, yes and no. I mean, she’d be proud of where I am career-wise and all that. She’d be proud of my accomplishments. I was the youngest Latino cop to make detective. That’s a pretty big accomplishment. But, uh…” he shrugged. “I think she’d want me to settle down with someone, be happy.”

“Well, some people are happy without settling down.”

“I’m not.”

Alex nodded. “Why do you think you haven’t found anyone?”

John shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Believe it or not, I'm really not that much of a catch."

"Oh, bullshit. What does that mean?" Alex laughed, taking a curly fry and eating it.

"Not many people are into a workaholic detective who lives off of cigarettes and coffee."

"Well, you're not all that bad. I like to think from the time I've spent with you, I've learned a few things about you. I mean, you really could be an asshole. Well, you kind of already are an asshole, but it's endearing. I mean, I've known way worse guys."

"Yeah, well..." John shrugged. "I dunno, it just never worked out for me."

Alex nodded. "Huh. I get that. It's never really worked out for me either."

"Well, you're not even thirty, you're doing alright."

"I'm twenty-nine and so far I just have some shitty exes and a few flings."

"I'm thirty-two and I've managed to scare off everyone I've ever been with."

Alex laughed. "Yeah, you kinda do."

"Hey." John gently pushed Alex's shoulder. "Dick."

"Yeah, yeah." Alex pushed his plate of curly fries towards John. "I feel like a pig, eat something, please."

"You've eaten enough to feed an army tonight," John joked, taking a fry and shoving it in his mouth.

"I get hungry sometimes. And I love diner food. Sometimes, I spend nights in diners, writing and writing, ordering soup and tea and fries."

"You don't sleep much, do you?" John mumbled.

"I'm a polyphasic sleeper. I don't just sleep eight hours through, I sleep for a couple of hours every now and then throughout the day. You don't sleep much either."

"Yeah, that's because I got too much to do."

"Well, you can't do much if you don't sleep."

John laughed. "Why a writer?"

"That's a stupid question. I didn't wake up one day and choose to write. No one does. You either write or you don't."

"Do you like to write?"

"Yeah, it's nice." Alex leaned back. "My mother always encouraged me to write. She'd get me books so I could read them, or so she could read them to me if they were too advanced."

"What happened to your mother?"

"Oh..." Alex sipped his tea. "She was a hard worker, she worked as a maid for one of those resorts that white people go to when they go to the Caribbean, you know? The ones where they don't have to actually deal with the locals, or see any poverty or that shit."

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about."

"Well, anyway, she uh, she was very overworked all the time. You know, they just... they weren't kind to her. She got real sick, and then I got real sick, but because I had a strong immune system, and I wasn't constantly sleep deprived and malnourished, I was fine. But my mother, she uh, she didn't make it." Alex pressed his lips together. "My father was never around, so I stayed with a cousin, but he killed himself. I bounced around in the system for a while, then I graduated high school and was given a scholarship to SUNY."

John was quiet. "I'm sorry that happened."

"Eh, it's alright. I'm over it. I mean, it was a while ago."

"We have more in common than we thought, huh?"

"I told you. Latino, queer, dead mothers."

John chuckled. "How'd you know I was queer?"

"I dunno. Just kinda figured."

John sighed, then waved down the waitress. "Could I get a BLT and another order of fries?"

"Sure thing."

She walked away, and John looked back to Alex. "You think they're sick of us?"

"I think we're giving them something to do, paying for food and tipping at a time where they wouldn't get this kind of money, and we aren't causing a mess or being rude. I think we're fine." Alex chuckled. "Something I've learned from being a writer and sitting for hours in cafes and diners is that as long as you're spending money, you're fine. They won't complain."

John nodded slowly.

The rest of the night went by, them talking every now and then, but still focusing on the work. By the morning, they had made connections between most of the girls, duets on OnlyFans, and also had a few leads to look into. The sun was just rising over the New York skyline as Alex and John packed up and left the diner.

"I've got work in an hour, I wanna run home and change, catch a shower." Alex patted John's cheek. "I know we were investigating a murder together, but this was fun."

"Yeah, it was." John ripped off his nicotine patches and lit up a cigarette. "I'll call you when I find things out, alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Alex smiled. "Bye, John."

"Bye, Alex."

-

"Hungover or tired?" Martha asked, setting a cup of coffee on John's desk.

"Tired. Didn't sleep last night."`John smiled at Martha. "Thank you. How's the baby?"

"Baby's alright." She rubbed her stomach, then opened up her Starbucks oatmeal. "What case was it last night?"

"The OnlyFans girls. Alex and I, we went to a diner and worked on it all night."

"You and Alex are getting closer."

"Yeah, well, he's helping me with the case."

"Why did you pick Alex to help you with this anyway? You're a great detective John, you never ask for help."

"Well, that's when I can solve a murder after the first person. But too many people had died, and I needed someone who could think like a murderer. Needed someone who... was capable of knowing more than me."

"Hm. Well, I like Alex."

"He's a murderer."

"We live in America, John. Innocent until proven guilty. And it's not like he kills people who are like... nice. I mean, he just gets the assholes who do cocaine and hit their wives and trade stocks."

"Murder is murder."

"Well, there's no actual evidence he did those crimes, and he's really nice."

"Ted Bundy was also really nice."

Martha laughed. "So suspicious. Are you having a nice time with him at least?"

"Despite his obvious flaw, he's actually pretty cool. Total social justice warrior kinda person. He's cool though. Funny. A bit odd, but we've got a lot in common."

"Yeah, I think he's pretty cool. Buys me tea sometimes."

"He does?"

"Yeah, has it sent here."

John nodded.

"Alright, officers, time for our morning briefing," their captain called out.

"Help me up, John." Martha held out her hands.

John pulled her up. "When are you going on maternity leave?"

"Next month." Martha sighed, putting her hand on her back. "Those chairs are so uncomfortable. I just wanna sit in my easy chair and watch movies with my wife."

John chuckled, sitting down next to her in the conference room. "I'm gonna live vicariously through you."

"I'll send selfies."

"Alright," George started, standing at the podium. "Rodgers, how is your break-in and entry coming?"

"Got a new lead, found some fingerprints, gonna look into them."

"Alright, and Laurens. How is your serial killer going?"

"Well, we found a connection between all the victims. They have all been in OnlyFans videos, but like, not all with each other, it was kind of this chain of connection. We found a few people to look into. No DNA evidence or film, but we think we're getting closer, and-"

"I assume you're still working with Alex?" George questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, uh, he's actually been a really good help. But no, I have a few leads, and I'll spend the day looking into them."

"Alright, detective."

The meeting went by, and soon enough, John was back at his desk, going through every lead he and Alex had come up with the night before. It was tiring work, boring, so John was glad to finally make it into the break room for a candy bar and some coffee.

"Rounded up some bench-sleepers last night, a whole lot of them," one of John's fellow officers, Rodgers, bragged, talking to another one. "Swear, tent city is making Brooklyn real ugly."

John bit his tongue, though he could feel Alex's influence bubbling up in his stomach.

"Sick of these criminals taking up space. If you can't afford to live in New York, leave."

John turned around. "It's not their fault they're homeless, and even if it was, they shouldn't be arrested for it."

"What do you care?"

"Well, these are people. We are supposed to serve and protect people."

"Not criminals."

"Criminals are not a subspecies, they are people. And the only person that homelessness is really hurting is the person who is homeless. I mean, arresting them won't do anything to help them."

"Jesus, don't hit me with that liberal crap."

John stopped talking after that. He got his coffee and his candy bar and walked back out to his desk, sitting down. Something about the way those cops were talking just didn't sit right with him. He supposed he had spoken the exact same way. He knew most of the people in the precinct treated their job as a game, rounding up as many people as they could. And then there were arrest quotas, ticket quotas.

He didn't like thinking about that stuff, so he went back to his leads, closing his eyes a bit and ignoring whatever feelings were brought up.

-

John was killing himself over this case. Another girl had been murdered, and they found the same connection they had found with the rest of them. John had to tell crying mothers and heartbroken friends what happened. It was his least favorite part of the job. He was working harder than he had ever worked before, which was really saying something since he treated almost every case like it was his most important one.

He hadn’t slept, eaten, showered in days. His hair was a mess, the bags under his eyes were dark, and he was starting to white out when he stood, which he didn’t connect to not eating, despite being a great detective.

“You should really take a break,” Martha mumbled, eating some cereal in the briefing room as John went over the board he had made of each murder, all the connections, and the background checks. The lead they got with the three guys from Tinder had fizzled, but it was an interesting fizzle. Two of them had alibis for most, if not every murder. The third though, he didn’t exist. And so that’s where John was, trying to figure out who this guy was.

“I’ll rest when I’ve solved the case,” John mumbled.

“You’re unbearable.”

John looked at her, then back to his board. “Have you got nothing better to do?”

“On desk duty? Nope.” She smiled.

“When does your maternity leave start?” He mumbled quietly.

“Heard that!”

“Laurens, someone here to see you.”

John looked over at the rookie detective, and then at Alex, who was skipping into the briefing room with a big smile and some coffees, as well as a paper bag.

“Hello, John Laurens,” Alex sang, setting down his things.

“Don’t you work today?”

“Lunch break.” Alex sat on the table. “Hiya, Martha. How’re things?”

“Things are good. My stomach is so big I can put food on it, look.” She balanced her cereal bowl on her swollen stomach.

“Nice. Ha, you’re eating cereal, he’s investigating a serial killer.”

John rolled his eyes.

“Master of angst, please, take a break for a second. I got you coffee. Black, like your soul,” Alex mocked.

John ignored that since he hadn’t had the chance to get some coffee in a while. “Shit, thanks.”

“I also got you a chicken and spinach wrap, since you look like you haven’t beat anorexia. Sit, eat.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” John scoffed.

“John, sit, eat,” Martha commended.

John groaned, but sat down and took a bite of the wrap Alex got him and then sipped his coffee. “Thank you.”

“Of course, deary.” Alex sipped his own cinnamon hot chocolate. “How’s it coming? Any new leads?”

“Nope. Nada.” John sighed.

“Well, I heard of this new thing that helps you solve cases. It’s called eating three meals and getting a full night's rest,” Alex pointed out. “Also showering.”

“Look, I can’t just stop. These people need…” John shook his head. “People are dying.”

“And people will continue to die if you don’t take care of yourself,” Martha pointed out.

“Oh, whatever.” John took a bite of his food. “This is good, where’d you get it?”

“Coffee shop down the street.” Alex sighed. “Look, hey, I gotta go, but maybe you should come over for dinner tonight. Get a shower in first, but then, like, come over, I’ll cook you a meal, you can relax a bit, and we can talk about the case. How does that sound?”

John pressed his lips together. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright, well, text me. If you do want to, come over around seven, you know where I live.” Alex got up, sighing. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Alex!” Martha smiled.

“Bye, Martha.”

Alex left, and Martha instantly smacked John’s head. “Why didn’t you just say yes?”

“I don’t want him to think that we’re like, dating.”

“God, he’s probably just worried about you. Look, just go, eat some food, talk to him for a bit, and if you show up dead in the Hudson, I’ll make sure the police know who you were with last.”

John was still hesitant.

“God, come on, do it for me, alright? I promise you, he’s not gonna take it to be anything more than two friends eating dinner. You really gotta loosen up. Remember having friends? This is what it’s like. You hang out, have fun, enjoy each other’s company. Just, do it, for me?”

John heaved a sigh. “Fine. But if I do show up dead, you better not rest until he’s arrested and in prison.”

Martha held up her pinky. “I promise.”

John pulled out his phone. “Anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair.” She heaved herself up and patted John’s head. “You really should shower before you go over there, though. You smell like a pig.”

“Shit.”

-

John couldn’t remember the last time he had gone over to someone’s house for dinner. It must’ve been his last boyfriend. That was about three years ago though. It’s not as if he remembered what was polite.

He tried to dress nicely, though he didn’t have many nice clothes. He picked up flowers, as well as a bottle of wine. John’s hair was unstraightened, he decided he didn’t want to hear Alex whine, and also he didn’t have time to straighten it after the shower. He wore a dinner jacket and a button-up, as well as some jeans. He thought he looked nice, but he wasn’t too sure.

He knocked on Alex’s door twice, then waited. The moment Alex opened the door, he immediately realized how overdressed he was. Alex wore a black turtleneck and some ripped up jeans with no shoes at all.

“John, hey, I’m glad you made it, come in. Take your shoes off though. Since you aren’t interrogating me for murder, I feel like I can ask that of you.”

“Most people wear shoes in the house,” John pointed out.

“Yeah, I had a girlfriend a while back, she was Asian, so she didn’t do that, never would let me do that either, and I guess I never broke the habit.” Alex smiled. “Dinner is almost ready. I’m making shrimp stuffed mirlitons, it’s an old New Orleans creole recipe. My mother always liked that New Orleans food and was great at cooking it. You ever been down there?”

“I haven’t,” John stated, sitting at Alex’s kitchen table and hanging his jacket on the back of his chair.

“Ah, well, you should go. It’s real pretty. I spent a few weeks down there last summer, it was gorgeous. The people, the food, the music. I really do like it. I’ve never been for mardi gras, but I would. I think it would be nice.”

John hummed.

“Besides New York and South Carolina, where have you been?”

“California a couple of times, Washington DC. I dunno, I’m not a big traveler. I usually have work.”

“God, yawn.” Something beeped, and Alex pulled out a pan with the food on it. He served John one of the stuffed mirlitons, and himself the other. “I really do like your hair all curly.”

“Yeah?” John chuckled.

“Yeah.” Alex tilted his head a bit. “It’s wild and pretty.”

John hated how that compliment went straight to his heart. “Thank you.”

“Okay, try the food, tell me what you think.”

John took a bite, then paused, chewing it. “Wow. This is really good. _Really_ good. You really made this?”

“By hand.” Alex smiled and took a bite of his own. “My mother taught me how to make all the cajun and creole food I know.”

“Was she from New Orleans?”

“No, but her father was. He moved down to Puerto Rico to be with my grandmother, taught my mom how to cook everything. He was the kindest man I ever knew, died when I was real young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My grandma had died a few years ago, and he wasn’t gonna be able to go on too long without her anyway.”

John nodded. “Why here? Why New York?”

“Well, I mean, you bounce around in the system long enough, you end up here. I probably would’ve been dropped somewhere else had I been any longer, but luckily my eighteen-year-old ass was turned out in Brooklyn. I always liked it here anyway, didn’t want to leave.”

John hummed. “Yeah, I suppose I feel the same. Never liked small towns.”

“Me neither. I lived in Gatlinburg Tennessee for a while, barely four thousand people.” Alex chuckled. “I hated it.”

“God, sounds miserable. My worst fear is getting transferred to a place like that or Staten Island.” John shivered. “I would be breaking up tanning salon fights until the day I died.”

Alex laughed. “Sounds like a horror story.”

John smiled. “It is.”

They ate dinner, then moved to Alex’s couch to drink wine and talk some more. They were both a little buzzed, but not drunk. Just enough to laugh without a care, sit closely together, and smile for no reason.

“You know, John, if you could access your emotions and develop healthy coping mechanisms, you’d be the total package,” Alex teased, sipping his drink.

“Oh, shut up,” John scoffed. “I’m already the total package.”

“Yeah, you are.” Alex leaned in a little closer to John. “God, I like how we were supposed to like, talk about the case, and here we are, a little wine drunk, laughing at each other.”

“I like talking to you,” John mumbled. “You got a way with words.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It’s cute.”

“Did John Laurens just use the word cute? I thought your vocabulary consisted of shitty cop sayings from eighties sitcoms.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” John threatened playfully.

“Oh, yeah? I’d like to see you try.” Alex smiled, staring at John with an eyebrow raised.

There was a quiet air between the two as they looked at each other, both overly confident and close enough to catch whiffs of the other. Those moments of quiet said so much more than they ever could vocalize. Those quiet moments changed the entire outcome of the night.

“Do you want to go to my bedroom?”

“Let’s go to your bedroom.”

Their voices overlapped, but they didn’t care. They just laughed and set their wine classes down before making their way into Alex’s room. Before they even hit the bed, Alex had pulled John into a kiss and was fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the tension that had been building ever since they first kissed that night in the club, but God, they wanted each other more than anything.

John learned, in the next half hour, that Alex was beautiful in every way he could think of. He had a body that wasn’t perfect, but it fit him and looked good on him, so it was beautiful. Alex learned that John’s hair looked even better, splayed out on a pillow.

When the actions were done, they laid together, holding each other’s hands and breathing heavily. John could barely hold eye contact with Alex, but to Alex? John was all he could look at. They were so close. Legs still entangled, hair a mess, chests pressing against the other.

“You’re beautiful,” Alex mumbled softly.

“You are too.”

Alex smiled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you…” John trailed off, thinking. “Just between us, did you kill those people?”

Alex’s smile fell, and for a moment, his face showed actual hurt. Then it hardened. He let go of John’s hands and sat up, staring at the blankets. “I think you should leave.”

“Alex, I-”

“Leave, John.”

“Alex, look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“John, get out, right now. Go. Get out of here. I mean it. Leave.” He looked at John with fury in his eyes, his lips pulled down in a frown.

John paused, then swallowed. “Okay, I will.”

Alex waited on his bed for John to get dressed and leave and only got up when John had closed the door. He cleaned up the kitchen and living room, then his room.

Maybe he did kill all twelve of those people. Maybe he watched the life fade from their eyes, listened to them beg for mercy, but he was no killer. He wouldn’t let John lead everything back to that.

John didn’t understand it. He was a cop. And Alex didn’t care if John didn’t understand it, but he didn’t want the man to judge him. It was different for Alex. He grew up watching his mother be abused by white tourists, treated horribly and underpaid by her boss, put her entire being into her work, and for what? So an overweight white woman could spit in her face? So she could come home with cracked hands from all the cleaners she used? So she could die of illness and exhaustion?

No one deserved that life, and when Alex saw people treating their maids like that, he couldn’t stand it. He wouldn’t stand it. He wasn’t going to be a passive voice in the background. He was going to do something.

Alex loaded up his dishwasher and leaned back against his counter, sighing. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep.

-

It was the next day when Alex was at work that John showed his face again. He walked up to Alex’s desk, looking guilty and awkward. Alex looked up, then back down at his computer, pretending to write things down. “How can I help you?”

“Alex…” John swallowed. “Look, I’m really sorry about last night.”

“This is a library, sir.”

“Alex.”

Alex stood up and looked around, then pulled John into the back room, closing the door. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but-”

“I wanted to apologize,” John started.

“Oh, fuck off. You know what?” Alex looked back to the door and lowered his voice. “You do _not_ get to come into _my_ house, eat _my_ cooking, and then accuse me of something I _didn’t do._ No, you don’t. You…” Alex growled. “I mean, what went through your head to make you think that was a good question to ask me?”

“I just thought since we were close and intimate that-”

“That you could _accuse me of murder_? What kind of fucking pillow talk are you _having_? No wonder you can’t find a fucking boyfriend, you just accuse anyone who shows any kind of interest in you of _murder_.”

“Alex, I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, not okay! You don’t get to make me feel used like that! You don’t get to make me lose sleep wondering if every time you’ve been nice to me, been close with me if you were just trying to get me to let down my guard. You don’t-” Alex cut himself off with a sigh. “You know what? I don’t even care. No, you just, you’re so frustrating!”

“I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“And I’m trying to tell you that you can’t just get off that easy!”

“What else do you want from me?” John gasped.

“I don’t know!” Alex began pacing back and forth between the thin isle of shelves. “I mean, _God_ , it’s so frustrating! You uproot my life, you make it really hard for me to get a job, you put me in poverty, then you ask for my help, and _then_ you continuously accuse me of murder, including after _we have sex_.”

John was beginning to feel like an asshole.

“You can’t do all of that! You have to pick and choose, you can’t just fucking wreck my life, and then make me feel cared about for the first time in a long time, and then do that stupid shit! I mean, God!”

“Alex, I’m sorry.”

“An apology from a pig’s mouth doesn’t mean _shit_!” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, just, leave, okay? Don’t you got a monthly arrest quota to fill? Some black people to brutalize?”

“Alex-”

“I’m sure there are a few trans women who haven’t been assaulted by an officer yet, why don’t you go change that! Any sex workers you wanna arrest? How about a few homeless people?”

“Alex-”

“Just leave! Jesus fucking Christ! I’m trying to tell you to _leave_. I do not want to talk to you anymore.” Alex opened the door for John. “Go.” When John didn’t move, Alex took a deep breath and looked the man in the eye. “If you do not leave right now, I’m going to call security.”

John grit his teeth, but let out a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

Alex watched John leave the library, then sat back down at his desk with a sigh. He ordered some food on grub hub and opened up his Google Docs, finding the book he was currently writing and continuing it. He did everything to distract himself from the feeling of betrayal in his chest, but God, it hurt. There was no way around it. John had hurt him.

-

John had gone out for drinks that night. He felt like shit, had lost Alex, who might’ve been his only real friend, and got chewed out by his boss for not figuring out anything, having any suspects, for the case.

“Your cheapest whiskey in your closest glass,” John requested.

“Well, that’s a drink.”

John looked over. There was a man sitting near him, tall, ruggedly handsome, with piercing blue eyes. Something about him was familiar, but John couldn’t quite place it, so he blamed it on the fact that he had worked with half the city, and everyone looked familiar. “Yeah, well, I need it.”

The man got up and sat down on the barstool next to John. “Rough night?”

“You wouldn’t believe.”

The man laughed. “I’m Collin.”

“John Laurens.”

“John Laurens? Of the NYPD?”

“The very one.”

Collin chuckled, sipping his drink and looking up at the baseball game that was playing, then back to John. “Nice to meet you, John Laurens, of the NYPD.”

Collin and John talked for an hour, then both decided to head back to John’s place and get it on. John called and paid for the Uber. Collin was shy in the back of it but kept giving John knowing smiles. John really just needed a distraction.

“Before we do this,” John started, walking into his apartment. “Can I get you anything? Glass of water? Cigarettes?”

“Glass of water would be great,” Collin decided.

John went to the sink and began filling up the cup. The cup would only make it to half full before falling to the bottom of the sink and breaking, because Collin had picked up John’s sturdy wooden cutting board and hit it right over the man’s head, knocking him out instantly.

-

It was the evening when Alex went back to John’s apartment. He wasn’t going to apologize for everything, but he was going to apologize for yelling at John, and hopefully create an open dialogue with the man so that they could discuss their feelings like adults and not just yell and kick each other out of where they are.

Alex brought over a bag of take out as a peace offering and was prepared to sit with John for a very long time, talk about their emotions. Alex knew this would take a long time because he was pretty sure the last time John spoke about his emotions, he was a baby who wanted to suck titty.

Something about the emotionally stunted Agatha Christie character enticed Alex. He did like John, so he was willing to put in the work. He was willing to talk this through with John, layout boundaries, and build a healthy relationship on an emotionally honest foundation.

Alex got to John’s apartment and knocked three times on the door. “John, it’s me.”

There was no answer.

“Come on, I know you’re in there. I can see the light under your doorway. I just wanna talk. I brought take out and everything since you’ve been paying for all those lunches.”

There was shuffling behind the door, and then a ruggedly handsome face popped it. It wasn’t John’s though. John wasn’t really ruggedly handsome. He looked good in a rat sort of way.

“Who are you?” Alex asked.

“I’m Chet,” he answered. “Uh, John and I are kinda… busy right now.”

Alex stared at Chet, trying to think why he looked familiar. “Uh, could you tell him I’m here?”

“Yeah, see, he specifically asked me to answer the door, said he didn’t really want to talk to you right now.”

Alex nodded slowly, wracking his brain for the image of this Chet guy. “I’m sorry, have we met before? You look really familiar.”

“Hm, I don’t think so.” Chet smiled. “Well, it was nice meeting you.” He then closed the door in Alex’s face.

It wasn’t until Alex had made it entirely out of the building that he realized where he knew Chet from. It was that night, in the diner, the only other person there, the one who had been watching them. The one who very clearly was disgusted by Alex’s move on him.

Why would he be with John?

Alex was wracking his mind. Searching and searching for any kind of answer. And then it hit him. The man had been watching them in the diner, and Alex was sure he’d been a few other places. Why? Well, there could be only one reason.

He was the killer.

In his time stalking John, Alex had gotten real good at climbing the fire escape up to John’s apartment. So that’s what he did. He was grateful that he had word not jeans that night, because getting up to that first level, that was the hardest part.

Alex climbed the stairs with general discreteness, he didn’t want to stand out or be spotted. He had spent time in John’s apartment before. He would watch a bit of TV, take a shower, snoop around. Alex only did this a couple of times, in the beginning, when he was considering killing John. He decided the man who lived off of cigarettes and the surprisingly high prescription of Zoloft wasn’t going to be _that_ much of a threat.

Alex got to John’s floor and quietly climbed into the man’s room. It smelled like sweat, so Alex left the window open. John seriously needed a diffuser or a candle or something.

He got to John’s bedroom door and pressed an ear to it, listening.

“You’ve been digging a bit too far into this.” That was Chet.

“Fuck you.” And that was John.

Okay, so John was in trouble.

Alex went back into John’s room and looked for anything, any type of weapon. John, for a cop, didn’t really have jack shit in his room. There was one small unloaded handgun. Useless. Alex hated guns anyway.

He opened John’s closet, and then, on the shelf, was a box entitled ‘contraband’. Contraband from what? Alex didn’t know. He didn’t care either. He opened it up, and there, right on top, were a pair of shiny brass knuckles. The whole box was filled with semi-illegal weapons, and Alex made a note to ask John about it later.

When you become a killer, the fear of God leaves your heart. When you become a killer, there is no image that could sicken you, shock you, or throw you off your guard. That held true for Alex, despite the fact that his murders were always clean and simple. So, when he stepped out of John’s room to see Chet, cutting deeply into John’s cheek, and John, bloodied and beaten, his stomach didn’t even turn. He could’ve eaten a rare steak.

“Well, hello.” Alex folded his hands behind his back, hiding the weapon.

Chet looked up. “What the fuck!”

“Alex?” John coughed and spit out blood.

“Hi, hello.” Alex chuckled, walking towards the two. “Now, what do we have here? Little detective finally facing the consequences of his actions?”

“Hold on, you’ve been helping him.” Chet held up the knife to Alex.

“It’s much easier to kill someone when their guard is down.” Alex smiled. “He’s been up in my business _way_ too long. It’s been a real bitch.” Alex sat down in John’s lap, taking the hand without the brass knuckles and rubbing his chin. “Hiya, piggy. Oink oink.”

“He’s been getting far too close to figuring out who I am,” Chet stated, now trusting Alex.

“Yeah, I get that, Chet. Though that’s not your real name, is it?” Alex stood up, then hit John in the jaw, only half force though. “Shame, really. He’s smart, he’d make a great killer.”

“He would.” Chet drove a knife into John’s thigh, just above the knee, and John yelled out.

“Alex, please,” John pleaded. “Help me.”

“Fuck you, cop scum.” Alex ran his hand over the deep gash in John’s cheek. “Your pretty little face, all fucked up. Now you’ll be just as ugly on the outside as you are inside.”

“Go to hell,” John muttered.

Chet, or Collin, no one was quite sure of his name at this point, pressed the knife to John’s neck. “How about I kill this cop? Huh? Get him out of our hair. Then maybe we can have a little peace and quiet.”

“Oh, but it’s so fun torturing him. Watching him pay for every single thing he’s done to me.” Alex kicked John in the shin, then punched him again, still with half force. “He’s scum!”

“Disgusting.” Chet-Collin pressed the knife to John’s neck a bit harder. “I used to kill pigs as a kid, it’s just like old times.”

Alex laughed, tugging John’s head by his hair. “How much blood can a piggy spill before they can’t spill no blood no more.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Wait!” Alex stopped Chet-Collin just before he was about to slit John’s throat. “Let me do it. I admire your work, I think you’ve done a fantastic job already, but this is my kill. He and I have… history.”

“Be my guest,” Chet-Collin smiled, handing Alex the knife.

Alex walked behind John, pressing the blade to the man’s neck. He leaned down, gently kissing the shell of John’s ear. “At night, I’d think about this and touch myself to it. I’d think about you, right where you are, and me, right where I am. I’d think about the way your blood would look, splattered against the walls.”

“You’re sick.” Blood dripped from John’s mouth. His back molar had been pulled out.

“Oh, baby, you’re the sick one.” Alex lowered his voice. “But you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

Alex looked to Chet-Collin, then back to John, and in a voice just loud enough for John to hear, he whispered, “I’m no killer.”

The next five seconds took about half an hour to go by. Alex turned and brought the knife down into Chet-Collin’s stomach, then into his thigh, and then his hand. He pulled back with the brass knuckles and hit the man right in the face, knocking him out, then got up to untie John.

“We need to call an ambulance right now, or he’s going to bleed-” Alex was cut off when John punched him right in the face.

“What the fuck!” The detective yelled. “What the fuck!”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Alex pulled out his phone. “Just saved your life, would think you’d be a bit more grateful!”

John put his hands in his hair and began pacing. Alex called the police and an ambulance. John and Chet-Collin were taken to a hospital, Alex was taken in for questioning. They had Alex wait in the interrogation room for six hours. He took a nap on the floor, still covered in John’s blood. He didn’t have a phone call, he was never read his rights.

John was put under so the doctors could fix the bone fracture in his cheek. Even at half-force, brass knuckles are deadly. Most of the doctors thought it was a miracle John walked away with as little injuries as he did.

He was dosed up on morphine, given a comfortable room, and a column in the paper the next day about the hero-detective who survived the vicious serial killer.

-

Alex had to come back in for questioning. Since John was back at work, out of the hospital, and almost back to normal, though he still got desk duty, it was time to bring Alex back in, and sit him in the holding cell for a while John got questioned. Alex was bored, and he didn’t even have his book with him, so he watched the officers come and go.

“Hey, Alex, another murder blamed on you?”

“You would think, right?” Alex smiled, standing up and looking out at Martha. “No, just that whole John thing.”

“You weren’t really gonna kill him, right?”

“No, of course not, but it would’ve been a lot harder to save our skins if that guy thought I was there to help John.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, good enough for me. Come on.” She unlocked the holding cell and let Alex out. “If I eat the entire twenty-piece McNugget on my desk, I’m gonna hate myself in the morning. Help me out.”

Alex smiled. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Heard you got treated like shit that night.”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, they never read me my rights, I couldn’t get a lawyer, they made me wait in the interrogation room for six hours.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Alex sat down at her desk and crossed his legs. “I haven’t spoken to John in a while. How is he?”

“He’s fine, healing. Was pretty messed up, I’ll tell you. Had to get knee surgery, really just needed some repairs. He was hydrated for the first time in his life though, with all the IVs and whatnot.”

“That’s good. Is he mad at me?”

“You did hit him in the face, make him think you were gonna slit his throat.”

“Look, I did what I had to do. He could be dead!”

Martha laughed. “Yeah, I don’t really know, actually. He didn’t really talk about it.”

“John? Not speaking about his emotions? That’s so unlike him,” Alex commented sarcastically.

“I know right?” Martha laughed, putting her hand on her stomach. “One more week and then I’m gone.”

“Do you know the sex?”

“Sex is a lie constructed by colonizers, binary gender is purely a western construct, and also gender in itself is stupid.” Martha smiled. “So no.”

Alex threw his head back, laughing. “Alright, queen, go off.”

“Hamilton.”

Alex turned to see the cop who brought him in.

“Leave him alone, Rodgers. I’m watching him. Also, he’s not under arrest,” Martha ate a chicken nugget. “God, why is McDonalds so good?”

“He should be in the cell.”

“Well, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

Martha pushed herself up in that awkward pregnant lady manner. “Well, innocent until proven guilty.” She huffed. “Is John out of questioning yet?”

“Should be soon,” Rodgers replied.

“Alright.” She sat back down and looked at Alex. “Sometimes it takes a lot to keep me in the force.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I joined to be a good cop, one like my dad. It’s hard to be a good cop in this job though.”

Alex hummed. “I bet.”

“Hey.”

Both Martha and Alex turned and saw John. His cheek was stitched, and he walked with a cane, but it was most certainly John.

“Hi.” Alex looked down at his lap.

“Look, I told them what you did. Your name is cleared. You’re free to go.”

Alex stood up. “Alright.”

“Can I walk you out?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex smiled, then waved to Martha before walking to the elevator with John. “Are you hurting too terribly bad?”

“Nah, they got me on some good pain killers.”

“Oh, that’s fun.” Alex nudged John a bit. “You wanna tell me about your box of contraband?”

John laughed as the elevator doors opened. “Yeah, uh, maybe over dinner some time.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, dinner.” John looked at Alex. “Look, Alex, I just, I wanna start over with you, but entirely over, just a little bit. I wanna take you to dinner, at a restaurant. I want to take you on a date.”

Alex smiled, rubbing John’s chin. “That’s really sweet, but I don’t date cops.” He turned and began walking away, then stopped. “But detectives are fine. Friday night, I choose, meet me around seven at my place.”

John smiled. “See you then, Hamilton.”

“Guess so, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> What was your favorite part?
> 
> What was your least favorite part?
> 
> Who was your favorite character?
> 
> What surprised you the most?


End file.
